


Memory Loss

by counterheist



Series: Wherein Romano's Health is, at the Best of Times, Tentative [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amnesia, Fade to Black, M/M, Romano's filthy mouth, Unrealistic Medicine, spain controls the weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32817733#t32817733">From the kink meme</a>. Romano loses his memory. Spain tries to make him remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One afternoon, Italy Veneziano woke up screaming in pain, with the absolute certainty that something in his world was horribly, _dreadfully_ wrong. Naked, he tumbled out of bed and ran as fast as he could out of his bedroom and down the stairs. When he realized that his pasta storeroom was still intact and not in any way on fire or swarming with locusts, he sighed in relief. His nightmares could be so _vivid_ sometimes.

His brother was not so lucky.

The high-pitched screams that usually indicated torture or badly dressed Englishmen in the near vicinity pierced through Italy Romano’s tomato dreams like a knife. Romano shot awake like his brother had mere moments beforehand. But he was not as agile as his younger brother, and was twice as clumsy to boot. So instead of hopping out of bed to find what was wrong and run in the other direction as quickly as possible, Romano got into a fight with the bed sheets.

And lost. _Bastards must have cheated._

As Veneziano skipped back up the stairs from his comfort visit to the pantry, he heard an unusual noise.

**THUNK**

It was very much like the sound of half a country hitting the hardwood. Veneziano re-entered his bedroom and discovered that was because it had indeed been the sound of his brother’s face meeting the flooring.

“Ve, brother… why are you sleeping on the floor?”

There was no answer.

“Ve, brother… why are you bleeding?”

Romano remained silent.

“…ve, brother…I think I’m going to call the hospital now.”

And so he did, after running screaming up to Germany’s house because “ **VE!!!!!!!!! GERMANY!!!! BIG BROTHER’S NOT MOVING!!! I THINK HE’S DEAAAAAD!** ”

Luckily for Romano, and for the almost sixty million citizens of the Republic of Italy, he was not actually dead. It took a little while for the medical staff from UNSICK (i.e.: the United Nations Sick and Injured Country Klinic. It had taken ten years and twelve grants to come up with the acronym) to fly in and set up shop in the nearest hospital. By that time, Romano’s head had stopped bleeding, and he had acquired a loose pair of shorts courtesy of his brother, on the command of a very embarrassed and repressed Germany.

The UNSICK doctors quickly set to work getting the still unconscious Romano bandaged and diagnosed. Well, the male doctors. The female ones were too busy comforting a crying, but still very charming, Veneziano in the waiting area four rooms over. Germany sat alone in the corner of the same waiting room, still very embarrassed and still very repressed. He felt very useless just sitting there, listening to Veneziano chat up the doctors, but instead of adding another patient to the list and passing out at the impropriety, he decided to get his phone out instead.

Nations were pretty hardy things. Beings. Things. Either way, it usually didn’t take them five hours to wake up from a little bump on the head. Something must really be wrong. Germany tried to put himself in Romano’s place; if he had suffered from a head injury and had to wake up in the hospital, wouldn’t he want the people most important to him to be there when he woke up?

A particularly loud giggle from one of the lady doctors cut through the waiting room. Maybe Germany would just want a _few_ of the people most important to him… but that thought was uncharitable.

Germany scanned through his contacts. Who did Romano ever talk to who wasn’t already at the hospital?

\- - - - - 

Spain’s phone was ringing a cheery tune. It complemented the cheery décor of his cheery house, and the cheery tomato plants growing in the cheery yard behind it. Spain wasn’t in the position to appreciate any of this cheerfulness, however, because he was currently deeply asleep.

_Ring._

“Mmm…”

_Ring._

“Tomate…”

_Ring._

“¡¿Por qué no te callas?! … heh…”

_Ring._

Finally, Spain woke up. As though a cloud had finished passing by the sun, the room instantly became ten times cheerier. But as Spain answered his phone and listened to Germany’s voice on the other end, a curious thing happened. The room started to lose its cheer. First the laughing light left the room’s sole occupant’s eyes. Then the paint scheme began to look quite dull. By the time Germany had finished (“…and he’s still unconscious.”), the room appeared veritably bleak.

Spain looked even worse.

“Don’t worry I’ll be there as soon as I can I’m going to the airport now just tell Romano that Boss is on his way!” Spain dropped his phone on his bed and ran out of his house (which slowly began regaining its cheer after he left), forgetting his keys, his wallet and his shoes. He also forgot to hang up his phone.

Germany realized this after waiting in expectant silence for three minutes on the other end.

He would have waited a little longer, just in case, but after those three minutes Veneziano disentangled himself from the doctors and wandered over to his friend. “The nice ladies say that we’ll be able to go into brother’s room in a few minutes, ve, once all the tests are done. I hope nothing’s wrong with Romano.”

Germany agreed. Things never went well for him when Romano was near and alright. Near and wrong… oh that was like _begging_ for a headache. He was very relieved when one of the doctors finally came over and signaled that it was time for the two nations to follow him into the patient’s room.

\- - - - - 

Romano was awake and sitting up in bed when Germany and Veneziano entered the room. He had a large bandage awkwardly covering most of the left side of his forehead. When he turned his head to watch his brother enter the room, the bandage slipped a little over his left eye. Germany fixed it subconsciously, while simultaneously holding the other half of Italy back from causing any more damage to his brother.

Veneziano was the first to realize that something was wrong, and stopped struggling as soon as he did. Germany was clued in a few seconds later when his brain finished processing the strange occurrence of him being able to be within ten feet of the elder Italy brother, without being cursed at or having anything thrown at him.

There were still rolls of bandages and a few antiseptic bottles on the stand next to Romano’s bed. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of opportunities or things to throw. And with how close Germany was, Romano had a perfectly clear head shot aligned. But all he did was stare at the frozen nations like they were particularly strange strangers.

The room was completely silent, until Veneziano started to cry.

“Ve! Brother, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you calling Germany mean names or making fun of his food?”

Romano’s expression didn’t waver, but he _did_ reply. “…Who are you?”

Germany could feel that headache coming on. He turned to the UNSICK representative that was just entering room and gave the man the most helpless expression he could muster. He mostly just looked ill.

“It seems you’ve found out about Italy Romano’s condition all on your own, eh? That will make this part easier.” The representative sat down in one of the plastic bedside chairs. “ _Sooo_ , Mr. Germany, Mr. Veneziano… have either of you ever heard of retrograde amnesia?”

This couldn’t be good.

\- - - - - 

Spain had been given money and travel documents from the security officers at the airport. Oh, and shoes. His people were very relaxed and very used to his peculiarities, so a little locker was usually kept at every major travel center in the country, _for_ their country. The lockers were filled with important things, like house keys and money and shoes. And sometimes snacks, because Spain could get awfully hungry waiting in the security lines before the officers on duty realized who he was.

But armed with all the necessities for international travel, and a bag of chips, Spain quickly got onto the fastest flight to Rome and within a few hours, more or less, was rushing into the hospital that held an unconscious Italy, a conscious Italy, and a very tired Germany.

Of course, Spain didn’t know that the current unconscious Italy was the younger brother, who had fainted after “ **VE, BIG BROTHER WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM?** ”

When Germany saw the distraught nation race into the hospital room and passionately embrace the unconscious Italy sprawled out on the bed closest to the door, he had two distinct thoughts. The first thought went something like ‘ _Back off_ ’ but in German, and a little bit more repressed than that. The second thought was much clearer, and went a little something like:

“Good. Romano will probably snap out of it now; he lives for his jealous rages, doesn’t he? I thought I heard Japan saying something about unresolved tension between those two…”

Unfortunately for Germany, Romano continued to sit in his own bed and did not look homicidal in the slightest.

\- - - - - 

“So he doesn’t remember anything? Anything at all?” Spain and Veneziano had finally been pried apart and once that monumental task had been accomplished, the doctors had informed Spain of Romano’s condition.

“You people really think you’re countries, don’t you?” It was the first time Romano had spoken all day (minus a couple of expletives from before he hit his head).

Spain looked like he was going to join Veneziano in tears. Over the din of “Ve, but you’re a country too, brother!” and “You were my cute little henchman for _centuries_ ” Germany decided to be practical. It wasn’t a hard decision for him to make.

“Yes. We, including yourself, are the personifications of different nations. You are the personification of the southern half of Italy…”

Germany’s speech took an hour. By the end, Spain had stopped crying, Veneziano had stopped crying about his brother and had started crying tears of boredom, and Romano still hadn’t cursed at anyone yet. “…Do you have any questions?” Germany was starting to like this amnesiac version of Romano; it listened to him and didn’t throw heavy medical equipment at him.

“Sounds like a bunch of shit.” So much for not swearing.

“But I guess at least some of it has to be true, since Weepy over there looks like a carbon copy of me. But dumber.” Memories or no, Romano was still Romano. Germany took back the thought about liking him better this way. At least when the other had memories he didn’t keep Germany cooped up in some random Italian hospital while work piled up on his desk back in Berlin.

Spain took Germany’s resulting sigh as an indication to intervene. “Don’t be mean to your brother, Romano, it’s not very cute.”

Romano turned towards him. “So?”

That was the tamest reply Spain had ever gotten from using the c-word with Romano. He felt himself mentally boarding the train to the Twilight Zone that Germany had gotten on hours ago. “Uh, you shouldn’t do things that aren’t cute. Because you have such a big capacity for cuteness.”

Romano didn’t look convinced.

“Just listen to Boss, alright? That’ll be the fastest way to get better!”

Boss. The word sounded familiar to, well, he’d take their word for it that his name was Romano, although he wasn’t so sure about the whole country thing. “If we’re both supposed to be countries, then how are you my boss?”

“ _Weeell…_ ”

Germany could smell the makings of an international crisis like a shark could smell a bloody fish carcass (From both far away _and_ when he was underwater).


	2. Chapter 2

After the Excitable One and the Repressed One had gone home for the evening, Romano was left alone with the hum of the machines nestled around his bed, his thoughts, and Spain. As much as he would have liked to ignore all three of these things and just get some sleep, he couldn’t. The buzzing noise was annoying, his thoughts were way too jumbled, and the other country just wouldn’t _shut up_.

“Romano! Are you sure you don’t remember?”

“Yes.”

“…are you sure _now_?”

“ _Yes_.”

This cycle had been on repeat for the past two hours, stopping only when Romano’s three visitors had left to get some sleep. At least, that was what he had thought they were going to do… until the one who said he was “The Kingdom of Spain! Don’t you remember?” had come back at midnight, towing a large suspicious sack behind him.

Maybe it was full of the bodies of other amnesiac countries he had annoyed to death. Romano couldn’t be sure, because as soon as Spain had re-entered the room, he had sat down on one corner of Romano’s bed and hadn’t stopped talking since.

“…and that’s why you should remember who you are, Romano. Doesn’t that make sense? Did it help you remember?”

“It’s one in the morning.”

Spain turned to the clock on the wall. Indeed, it was one-oh-two. And thirty-seven seconds. Thirty-eight. Thirty nine…

“Stop counting the seconds, you idiot.”

“…you called me an idiot. Does this mean you remember Boss, Romano?” Spain looked so hopeful.

“No, it means you’re a stupid fucking moron who _counts out loud_ and won’t let me sleep!”

Now Spain just looked embarrassed. “Oh. I’ll be quiet then.”

“Good.” Romano pulled the covers over his head and resolved not to let anything bother him anymore. He was just going to ignore it all and go to sleep. Hopefully when he woke up, he would get to find out that this whole debacle had just been a ridiculous dream, which he could laugh about with his normal human friends and normal human neighbors and normal, really hot human girlfriend.

Romano’s sleep was dreamless.

His wakefulness was dreamless too, and it began much earlier than he would have liked. At the stroke of six A.M., Romano’s consciousness barely registered the shuffling sound of a heavy sack being dragged across the linoleum flooring. He even slept through a mysterious someone turning on the lights. The country that jumped on top of him a few seconds later… as much as he would have liked to sleep through that too, he didn’t.

“ **Holy shit** , what do you think you’re doing?!” It was Spain. Of course it was Spain. Had he even left during the night?

“Good morning to you too, Romano.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?” Romano wasn’t sure anymore whether Spain’s default mode was ‘hopeful’ or ‘confused’.

“Romano.”

“No, no. I’m Spain. Sppppppaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnn. _You’re_ Romano, Romano.” That’s it, he had decided. Spain’s default mode wasn’t ‘hopeful’ and it wasn’t ‘confused’ either: it was just plain _stupid_.

“…I’ll speak slowly for you, so you can understand. Why do you keep ending every sentence with the word ‘Romano’?”

Spain looked a little bashful at that. “Oh, you noticed. I guess… I guess it’s because you don’t really look like you believe that that’s your name. I thought that if I said it often enough, it’d start sounding more familiar, and then maybe you’d remember yourself faster, Romano!”

Romano didn’t know what to say to that, so he ended up not saying anything. Instead, he tried to go back to sleep, because _really_ , six in the morning? He hoped to God that he wasn’t the sort of person who got up this early on a regular basis. It didn’t feel like it, but it’d be less weird than being the personification of a country was. Half a country. Whatever.

But he had forgotten that Spain was a bastard. Romano made the mental note, if he ever got his memories back, to never forget the ones that reminded him that Spain was a bastard.

“Romano, you can’t go back to sleep now. I had to make sure these were the right books, so I was reading for the past five hours. It wouldn’t have taken me so long, but you know how rusty my Italian is.” Spain withdrew several thick books from the curious sack that had spent the night sitting at the foot of Romano’s bed. They had interesting titles; some were in Spanish, some in English. Most were in Italian. All of them were history books, and most of them were about Italy. Him.

Spain placed each one on Romano’s bed, within easy reach. He smiled when he pulled out the last two books. Romano could clearly see _The History of Spain_ and _Spain: A History_ in the other’s hands and had the remote thought that maybe he should be embarrassed.

“I got these at your house last evening, before I came back here. You own a lot more books than I was expecting, Romano. It took a little while to find the right ones… and I never expected you would have any about _me_!” It wasn’t even a remote thought anymore: Romano was officially embarrassed.

“Who gave you the right to go rooting through my things?”

“Your brother.”

“That doesn’t count!”

“I’m sorry, Romano.” The funny thing was that Spain really did look sorry. Romano wished he would stop. It was difficult to be angry with someone so sincere. “But here, see? They’re all books about you and me and even a bit about your brother!”

“…and?”

At noon, he was really regretting asking that question. It was like a twisted version of story time, only Romano felt too old to have someone else read to him and the books had way too much text and lots of illustrations of people getting shot or stabbed. Sure, Spain hadn't been reading the whole time. He'd stopped once, when the doctors had come in to give Romano breakfast and check on his head wound.

That part had been great, actually, because Spain had spent those fifteen minutes hiding under the unoccupied bed on the other side of the room (“Sssh, Romano…I’m not exactly supposed to be here right now…”). Romano wasn’t sure why he hadn’t ratted Spain out to the doctors. After five and a half hours of lessons on his ‘past,’ Romano was starting to think that Spain’s insanity was contagious. Good thing he was already in a hospital, just in case it was fatal, too.

Spain closed the book he was holding and placed it on the table next to Romano’s bed. Two down…ten to go. “Well, Romano, any questions about the Habsburgs? Is any of this ringing any bells?”

The silence that descended as Spain waited for Romano’s reply was beautiful. Too bad Romano had to break it by tearing the idiot down a couple of notches.

“Why are you doing this?”

“We’ve both had really long histories. Sometimes _I_ forget things too, and I don’t even have amnesia like you do, Romano. But now that you’ve heard about the things that happened to you again, maybe you’ll start getting your memories back. I really hope so…”

“Yeah, maybe that’ll work.” Spain looked surprised. Romano guessed that he didn’t agree with the other country all that often. “But why are _you_ the one here telling me all of this stuff? Shouldn’t that be the other half of Italy’s job? Or couldn’t someone have just given me the books and let me read them myself? Later in the day?”

“…I guess that makes more sense. But you’re really important to me, so I wanted to do everything I could to help you remember.”

“What, you wanted me to remember the three hundred years when you were my overlord? Really? Are you hoping I’ll remember how much I dislike being ruled by somebody else?”

Now Spain looked sad… and was it Romano or did the hospital lights just get dimmer? “They weren’t all bad times. Sometimes you had fun at my house, Romano, I know you did! You never wanted to say it, but there _had_ to be times when you liked being there. I would have been able to tell if you didn’t.”

Romano scoffed. “ _Sure_. You know what you can do with your house—” he was cut off by the sound of the meal cart rolling down the hallway. “Never mind. Just get back under your bed, stupid. The doctors are coming back.”

The other country looked at Romano for a long moment. It was actually kind of creepy how serious he was being, but before Romano could think about it further, Spain wordlessly dived underneath the spare bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The doctors had left twenty minutes ago… Romano was starting to worry about Spain. Surely he couldn’t have hurt himself so badly jumping under the bed that he’d lost consciousness. He was aggravating, yes, and stupid. But not that stupid.

Wait.

Where was that rustling coming from?

Romano would later swear that the noise he made was a manly grunt of surprise, and not the high pitched squeal of terror produced only by awkward teenage boys whose little sisters have saved over every ‘Call of Duty’ slot in the Wii, in order to make room for ‘My Ballet Studio.’ Spain didn’t notice the noise, so there was no one to challenge Romano’s claim, except for every other person with functional hearing within a two kilometer radius of the hospital.

“Did you know how hard it is to get pants off and tights on when you’re trapped underneath a bed?”

“ _Never. Do that. Again._ ”

“What was that, Romano?”

By this point, the slight shock Romano had felt when Spain had jumped up beside him had faded enough so that Romano could process the other country’s appearance.

“What the _fuck_ are you wearing?”

Spain pointed to himself. “Me? This is my plan part two! These are the clothes I used to wear back when you lived with me. Do you remem—” Romano knew the drill by now.

“No. But why are there so many tears and… and is that _blood_?”

“Well, yeah… but the 1500s were a really messy time, you know that. This outfit went all over the world with me… I’m really glad I gave it to Veneziano to patch up a few years ago. Otherwise plan two would have been a total failure.”

Romano stopped himself from saying it was already a failure, much like Spain’s tights and floofy little pants and oh God, were those ruffles? “That… _thing_ is from the 1500s? You mean, you had something commissioned to look like the clothes you used to wear?”

“Of course not. Why would I do that when the originals still fit?”

“You _idiot_. That should be in a museum then, or something. Not being worn in a hospital.” Romano peered at the bloodstains. “And who knows what sort of diseases it’s got all over it. Probably from you.”

“You can be really strange sometimes, Romano. Boss’s uniform really didn’t work? Well…” Spain rummaged around in the bag at his feet. “Then how about **this**!”

Something small, soft and green was shoved into Romano’s face. Luckily Spain missed his forehead, which was still quite tender. Romano wasn’t just in the hospital because he’d forgotten a bunch a freaks. Sheesh.

“Is that a dress?”

It was.

Romano held the small little dress made of pale green fabric. It was spotless, unlike Spain’s roughed up attire, and even had tiny little embroidered detailing around the hem. Only those little flowers made of thread showed any aging at all. It was a pretty little thing, but Romano couldn’t help but dislike it. He didn’t know why; maybe it was something to do with his memories.

Spain pressed something else into Romano’s hands. “Here, Romano. This goes with it. There’s supposed to be a headscarf, too, but Veneziano couldn’t find it. It must have been misplaced over the years.” Spain stepped back, and proudly surveyed the half-country on the bed. He really looked like something was supposed to happen now.

“A little girl’s dress and apron? How are these supposed to be important to me? Do I have a sister you didn’t tell me about? A daughter?”

A flash of something crossed Spain’s face. “No, you don’t have a sister. And no children that I’m aware of, although after you left me, you didn’t visit for a really long time. So I suppose it’s _possible_. But…no. You don’t have a daughter.”

“Then who does this belong to?”

Spain brightened. So did the room (really, what was up with those lights?). “It’s yours!”

What.

“Only… I think this one actually belonged to your brother, because it’s got all that cute extra embroidery. And now that I think about it, I think I remember you setting fire to your dress back when you had your first growth spurt and didn’t have to wear it anymore. But it was basically the same. Isn’t it _cute_?”

“I used to wear dresses?”

“All the time, at my house.”

“So you made me wear dresses, when I was a kid.”

“…yes?”

“And I liked wearing them?”

“I wouldn’t use a word like ‘like’, exactly, but you wore them all the time, Romano. It was really, _really_ cute to watch. And your brother wore one too, the one that you’re holding right now!”

Maybe he had hit himself on the head on purpose. Just to get amnesia and forget these morons. “What’s _wrong_ with you? We’re not the same person. I don't remember anything, and even I can figure that out. God, I bet I have a shitload of complexes, all from you. How good do you think the shrinks are around here?”

“…Romano?”

“Take the costumes away and get out.”

“But—“

“Out.”

“But my clothes are—“

“ _Out_ ”

Looking like a kicked puppy, or like a really dejected country who had just had one of his better ideas shot down and ridiculed by his most _special_ friend, Spain slunk out of the room. Romano could tell the other country had really left by following the progression of dimmed, flickering hallway lights with his eyes. _Weird._

After Spain had left, Romano threw the dress away from his bed. Stupid. These were probably supposed to be in a museum too, just like Spain’s outfit.

Which he had left the room still wearing.

...Were those jeans under the spare bed?

\- - - - -

Romano spent the better part of the next hour flipping through the channels on the TV in the corner of his room. So far, it had been working fairly well as a distraction technique.

_“…In other news, the rain in Spain has been falling heavily **everywhere** for the past eighteen hours. Authorities are calling it a national emergency. We go now to our correspondent in Madrid…”_

The injured nation carefully turned off the television, and carefully threw the remote in the direction of the spare bed. This was _not_ his fault. So what if Spain was overly emotional? If he really was a whole country, he’d get over it.

When the door opened ten minutes later, Romano was still sulking. Germany tried to walk straight out of the room again, but was caught up in the momentum of the Italy rushing through the door behind him. A stranger followed sedately after the two, and a strangely quiet Spain brought up the rear of the party. At least he’d found some normal clothes somewhere.

“Ve, brother, how was your night? Did you get enough sleep?”

Romano carefully refrained from looking at Spain. “No.”

Germany cut off the rest of Veneziano’s questions with one of his own. “Do you still not remember who you are?”

“Yes.”

“Ve, then we’ve got a solution!” Veneziano skipped over to the man standing quietly next to the door. “Do you remember Japan? ( _”No.”_ ) We called him last night because he’s really good at these sorts of things. Well, Germany did most of the talking, but he let me dial the number. Japan can help you and then we can all go back home!”

The man, no, the country bowed. “It is troubling to hear what has happened to you, Romano-san.”

There was silence. Was he supposed to be responding now?

Eventually, Germany cleared his throat, awkwardly, and spoke. Germany did not tolerate ambient awkwardness well, because of his already high inner levels of it. “Japan. Please start with… whatever it is that you’re going to do.” There. That hadn’t been so hard.

Japan nodded and moved closer to Romano’s bed. As the rest of the countries watched, he opened the drawer of the nightstand and removed two surgical gloves and a stethoscope. He put on the left glove, the right glove and then finally looped the stethoscope around his neck.

“Romano-san, could you please tell me about your childhood?”

“…I don’t remember anything before I woke up in this hospital. So no, I can’t.”

Japan nodded. “I see…”

There was silence again. Was that… really it?

“Germany-san, Veneziano-san, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

Spain stood up as the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. “But Japan, you haven’t even tried anything yet.” He looked morally affronted. “How can you give up now?”

Japan fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck, and bowed his head. “I am extremely sorry, Spain-san, but in my experience, this is the only way to proceed. Background research indicates that if the patient does not have childhood trauma to work from, then it is a matter of pre-existing love entanglements. It is in my best interests to pick another target.”

Romano was confused. So was everyone else in the room, except for Germany, because Germany was the sort of pervert who liked those games too. Not that he’d ever let anyone know.

“Veneziano. Why did you insist that we call Japan for help?”

“Ve, Germany, isn’t it obvious? It’s Japan! I hear him talking about weird medicine-y things all the time.”

The polite nation nodded. “Yes, it is true. I’ve played Trauma Center six times.”

Germany began to feel very, _very_ tired. Veneziano had a radar in his head for that sort of thing, and so made the immediate suggestion that “Ve! We should all go home and have a siesta and then some pasta and then we can come back later and maybe Romano will be all better then!”

Frankly, it was the best idea so far.

“Wait.” It was Japan. He walked around to Romano’s side, looking as forceful and as serious as Death. “Sometimes, the brain is like a remote.”

“Ve, because it can turn on?”

“Because both have a basis in electronic systems?”

“I don’t understand…” Romano agreed with Spain. Not that he’d ever let the other know that.

Japan fervently shook his head. “No, everyone. The brain is like a remote in that sometimes you just have to hit it for a little while to get it to work again.”

Wait a second…

**SMACK!**

“Japan!” “How dare you…!” **”VE JAPAN JUST KILLED BIG BROTHER AGAIN BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE ITALY ALL BY MYSELF!”**

Ow.

_Ow._

For such a small looking nation, Japan could hit _really_ hard. “Goddamnit, what the fuck was that for?”

The four other countries were now looking at Romano with very calculating expressions. Again, Germany was the one to break the silence. “Romano… how do you feel?”

“Angry.” The others were still looking at him strangely… and when Romano spotted the hopeful look’s reappearance on Spain’s face, he realized why. “Angry and memoryless.”

“Ve, drat.”

\- - - - -

While Germany and Veneziano went on ahead towards the elevators, Japan motioned Spain over to a corner of the waiting room. “Please, Spain-san, sit.”

And so he sat, in the chair the three had found him sitting in when they’d arrived at the hospital. It was a very comfortable chair, and it gave Spain a tiny view of Romano’s door. Just in case. Japan took a seat in a chair opposite to Spain’s. This chair was as comfortable as it looked, which was not very. Strange. It was exactly the same as Spain’s…

“Ahem. Spain-san. Do I understand correctly that you spent the night at the hospital?”

Spain blushed. “Who told you? I know I wasn’t supposed to, but…”

Japan shook his head. “No one told me anything, Spain-san. I could just tell. I’m an expert at these things, you know.”

“Does this have to do with your video games again?”

This time, it was Japan who blushed. “Never mind that, Spain-san. What matters is that I have a little bit of extra advice, just for you.”

“I thought you said there was nothing else you could do?”

“That’s true. But there are several things I think _you_ might be able to try. First, what have you already done to try and return Romano’s memories?”

Spain didn’t hesitate. He told Japan about his failures with the history books and the old clothing. “I tried to make Romano remember the past by showing it to him, but that didn’t work!”

“Spain-san, maybe you should try showing Romano-san the more recent past.”

“Recent past…?”

“Yes. We’ve all had troubling lives. Perhaps Romano-san is none too keen to relive his.” With that, Japan stood up. “Don’t give up. I am rooting for you, Spain-san. If you keep trying, I am certain you will be able to unlock the good++ ending.”

“Yeah…”

Japan paused before walking towards the elevators. With the stethoscope still around his neck and wearing the coat that belonged to some hapless UNSICK surgeon, he almost looked like a real doctor.

“Ah, one last thing, Spain-san. If that suggestion doesn’t work out, there’s _one last thing_ you might want to try…”


	4. Chapter 4

When the hospital room lights turned on, Romano correctly guessed that Spain had returned. He wondered what Spain was going to try next; he was persistent, Romano would give him that. But all this interference between the injured nation and his sleeping time was something that would have to stop.

“Romano.”

“Yeah?”

In two strides, Spain was standing next to the occupied bed. He shoved something towards Romano’s face and started babbling. “I’m sorry in advance that I went through your things again, and I’m sorry that it took so long to find, you really should keep all your books on a shelf and not in a box in the back of your closet, but please look at this.”

He ignored the admission of the invasion of his privacy, again. Romano also ignored how close Spain was standing to him. Because, damn it all, “Don’t tell me this is mine.”

“But it is!”

Romano inspected the scrapbook in his hands. The pages were ragged, and it wasn’t very neat, but still, a scrapbook? What kind of man was he? Did he also have a diary that Spain just hadn’t been able to find yet?

Spain tensed as Romano opened the cover of the book. “I promise I didn’t go through it or read anything, Romano. It doesn’t look so old, so it’s probably from the past few decades. Maybe it can help you.”

Romano slowly paged through the book. There were plenty of pictures, and some notes scribbled in what he assumed to be his own handwriting. Apparently he collected phone numbers. Huh. Near the center of the book, he stumbled on several loose pages.

They were letters.

_Dear Romano,_

_I hope you’ve been doing well! I was worried when you didn’t answer my last six letters, so I sent this one along with copies of all the rest to make sure that you got the messages. I know how frustrating it can be when mail gets lost. Maybe you should have a talk with your postal service…?_

_< 3, Spain_

Something was scribbled on the other side of Spain’s letter. It had never been sent.

_Spain, you bastard,_

_Stop sending me letters. They’re stupid. And a waste of my time. If you want to talk to me so badly then ~~you should just fucking come over and visit or something, damnit!~~ just call. Although I hate the sound of your voice. A lot. Words cannot properly express how much I hate being around you and your freaky house. A HOUSE ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THAT CHEERFUL. Shit, this letter sucks. Stupid Spain, you made me write a shitty reply. _

“I don’t sound like I like you all that much, do I?”

Spain peered over Romano’s shoulder to read the letters he was pointing to. “Ah, well… you can just get a little grumpy sometimes, Romano. I’m pretty sure you don’t mean it. Maybe you hadn’t had your siesta yet when you wrote that.”

Romano flipped through a few more letters. Most involved Spain writing about his day or his tomatoes or something trivial like that. The unsent replies were all standoffish and short, and filled with crossed out words that Romano couldn’t decipher. He wondered why he had kept it all.

It probably wasn’t important.

The next section of the scrapbook was filled with pictures. Pictures of Romano and Spain. It looked like they were all taken on vacations, as the backdrops were all sunny beaches or castles or other tourist spots. Every picture was different, except for certain things. The pictures had been taken at different angles and locations, and had different poses from the two subjects. And yet Spain was always smiling like it was the best moment of his life, and Romano was usually frowning and refusing to look at the camera.

“Let me guess, you wanted us to have our picture taken in all these places.”

“Exactly!” Despite the cheerful tone, Spain looked wary. So he _could_ learn, afterall.

“And I didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“I suppose that’s what you _said_ , but I never thought you really meant it.”

Romano flipped through a few more of the pictures. There were the two countries in a crowded plaza. The next photograph barely had Romano in it at all; just the arm Spain was trying to drag into the frame.

“Hmm.”

With that dismissal, Spain finally lost his hope.

A wave of depression crashed over the room, filling every corner. It was suffocating, and probably the only reason why Romano was having a hard time breathing. Or maybe that was the guilt. At this point, Romano couldn’t really tell.

“I’m sorry I bothered you, Romano. I’m sorry that I’ve been bothering you all this time. I didn’t realize that’s what was going on, I promise! I’ll just go now.”

Romano would have jumped out of the bed and chased Spain down, very dramatically, but he had been lying down for too long, and that head injury was still making him feel a little funny. So instead he chose to yell. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get back here.”

Looking completely lost, the country complied with Romano’s order. “Look, maybe I was exaggerating a little. Maybe I don’t actually hate you.”

Spain still looked so hopeless that Romano was beginning to fear for the end of the world. “You don’t have to say those things just to be nice, Romano. I want you to get your memories back, but I never considered that maybe you didn’t feel the same way. Or that maybe you just didn’t want your memories of _me_ back.”

Why did this guy have to make things so complicated? “It’s not like that. Look, maybe you controlled the south parts of Italy, me, for hundreds of years. But I bet I didn’t hate you for that the _entire_ time.”

That didn't work.

Spain’s shoulders were still hunched, and Romano was beginning to see his breath in the cold air of the room. “…Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Fine. Ugh, damnit, these letters, then. Look at the letters! If I really hated you, I probably wouldn’t keep all of this stuff that had to do with you. Unless I was keeping it out of spite, as a memento of my grudge against you. But that’s probably not why.”

That didn't work either.

Romano was beginning to get hysterical and he wasn’t even sure why. “Just… look at these pictures.” He pointed to the open book on his lap. “See? This one, where we’re on the beach... I’m almost smiling!” Romano took a second look. “Well, maybe not. Just ignore that picture. But the one on this page, that’s definitely sort of a smile.”

He probably should just stop. Each of his efforts to make Spain feel better looked like they were causing Spain physical harm. What else could he do?

" **Fuck, Spain, if my memories and I are so important to you, then you shouldn’t be giving up so easily!** "

Finally, _finally_ , Spain smiled again. “You’re right, Romano. I won’t ever give up!”

“Well…good, then.” All of a sudden, the atmosphere in the room became very awkward. Germany hadn’t come back, had he? While Romano looked around his room, just to make sure, Spain started edging in closer to his bed.

“Hey Romano?”

No Germany by the door. Romano turned to look by the television. It was weird, how could a room feel like this without some beacon of awkwardness standing around?

“I know you don’t remember anything about yourself… but do you remember the story called _Snow White_?”

That caught Romano’s attention. That and the fact that Spain was definitely in his personal space now. “Yeah… _mmf!_ ”

Spain was kissing him. Maybe it was supposed to be gentle, and it was definitely supposed to be tender, but in reality, all Romano could feel through the kiss was Spain’s desperation.

And his tongue.

Romano stopped thinking for a while. He must not have done anything else, either, because when he opened his eyes ( _When did he close them?_ ), Spain had stopped kissing him, and was staring at him expectantly. “Did it work?”

“…What?” He sounded dazed. This was… what was going on? “What are you doing?”

“Japan reminded me about the story earlier. He said True Love’s Kiss could fix anything! And if it didn’t work the first time, lots of True Love’s Kisses could fix even more things!”

“You… no. It didn’t work.” The words only made Spain look more determined, as though he was about to rush headlong into Part B of Japan’s suggestion. How was Romano supposed to react to something like that? “But… but how could you expect it to? You got the scenario all wrong!”

The other country seemed to take this into consideration. “I guess so, but it’s not like I could get the scenario perfectly; you’re in a bed and you’re almost lying down and you need to be cured, right? Which of the other parts of the story could I have gotten? You aren’t a princess, Romano…”

“You could have at least warned me, so I could pretend to be asleep or something.” Wait a minute, was he really going along with this?”

Spain had the same question. “You want to try it, Romano? For real?”

Romano couldn’t find any words, so he just put his head on his pillows, got comfortable on the little bed, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. He opened one eye. “Are you just going to stand there all day or what?”

Spain was still next to the bed, where he had been the entire time. “So that was a yes?”

The southern half of Italy sighed. “It’s not like it could hurt to try. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, you’re not _bad_ looking.”

The other country frowned. “ _Romano,_ ” he chided, “that’s really shallow.” He might have said some other things about how Romano should have more qualifications for kissing people he didn’t remember, but before long, his mouth was otherwise occupied.

This time, with Romano’s tongue.

After a few minutes of this, Romano’s mood had improved considerably, Spain had forgotten that he was supposed to be making Romano remember anything, and both countries had somehow managed to fit two fully grown bodies on a bed designed only for one.

Just as they were really getting into it, as Spain’s hands began to wander and Romano began to wonder whether he should be suggesting that his hospital gown would look better on the floor, something happened. Something other than heated making out, although that didn’t really stop.

As Spain returned his attentions to Romano’s mouth, from his slight interlude pressing butterfly kisses on the other’s neck, something began buzzing in Romano’s mind. If he had been wearing pants, something would have already been buzzing in those, but this was a different sort of feeling. As the country on top of him ground his hips down and began sucking on Romano’s lower lip, Romano felt ten thousand sensations. Not the least of which were the whispers in the back of his mind, and oh it was too good, and he was… he _was_ —

**THUMP**

Goddamn fucking bedrails. Italy Romano clutched at his abused head and cursed the moron who had invented bedrails. Bastard was probably German.

Wait.

Well shit… he remembered. _Everything._ And now Spain had stopped kissing him and was looking at him with concern. “Romano… are you alright? I’m sorry, should we stop…?”

This could go several ways. Romano could let Spain know that he was alright now, and that everything was back to normal. But. But frankly, he didn’t _want_ things to go back to normal. Normal Romano would never be caught dead or alive making out with Spain, especially when he was only wearing a flimsy paper gown. But amnesiac Romano… amnesiac Romano didn’t know any better. He could get away with a _lot_ of things…

“The fuck are you doing, you idiot? Get back down here, it might start working soon. And this time, try running your hands through my hair…”

Spain complied.

\- - - - -

In a house not too far away, the country of Japan was just starting a new save file in his old Trauma Center game. Now that Romano-san was in the hospital, the Asian nation would need to brush up on his medical skills. As the game loaded, Japan had a curious thought:

’Now was it one knock to the head that fixes amnesia, or _two_?’

\- - - - -

There was a pounding at the door. Spain ignored it quite well and quite easily. He’d had a _lot_ of practice in that department. Romano ignored it too, although _he_ wasn’t a lazy bastard, so he’d been up and awake for a while. Seriously, siesta time had been over for an hour already. No, he just ignored the banging at the door on principle.

“Ve, big brother, let us in! I thought these rooms didn’t have locks…” They didn’t, but that’s what chairs were for. Romano was currently watching the television, while sitting in the only chair in the room _not_ barricading the door.

_”Breaking news! The torrential downpour that has been devastating the entire country of Spain appears to have stopped for good! Flooded areas are draining with astonishing speed, and even as I speak, citizens are returning to their homes…”_

He turned the broadcast off. God, Spain was so emotional. But Romano was glad the other was happy. Mostly because Romano was _also_ very happy, and for the exact same reasons.

Finally, the noise seemed to break through Spain’s thick skull. “Mmm… Romano? What are you doing all the way over there? And what’s making all of that noise?”

Romano stood up, and threw something in the direction of the country on the bed. As he started removing the chairs blocking the door, he spoke. “Better get some clothes on fast, stupid. I’m about to have visitors and hell if I’m going to let them see you like this.”

When the last chair had been removed, the south of Italy wisely sidestepped out of the path of the door. In doing so, he managed to avoid the north of Italy, as he crashed headlong into the linoleum flooring.

**“VE! GERMANY, HELP MEEE! I’M DYING!”**

Within a moment, the room was full of countries again. A very concerned Germany had momentarily forgotten his social repression, and was helping a bruised Veneziano off the floor. As the Italy in his arms cried, Germany mentally battled between actually wanting to “Veee, kiss it better Germany!” and passing out at the very thought. He ended up compromising between the two by fetching Veneziano a bandage for his ‘wound’ and then collapsing into a chair.

No one noticed, but Japan had caught it all on a camera, which he swiftly stowed in the pocket of his pilfered white UNSICK coat. “I see you are up and about, Romano-san. Does this mean you are well?”

The commotion in the room came to a halt.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Japan turned to the nation on the hospital bed formerly occupied by the amnesiac Romano. “Would it be intrusive of me to ask which, if any, of my suggestions proved useful, Spain-san?”

Spain hadn’t heard him. He was too busy beaming at the Italy lounging by the door. “Does this mean… do you remember now, Romano?”

“Obviously, you moron.”

As Germany observed the scene, he started feeling more and more confused. Romano and Spain were smirking at each other, Japan was blushing and…

Veneziano was finally the one to say it.

“Ve, Spain, why are you wearing big brother’s hospital gown?”


End file.
